Hating Miss Doyle
by Jounetsu-no-Hana
Summary: This is from the part in "A Great and Terrible Beauty" that Gemma kisses Kartik in the Gypsy camp, only in Kartik's point of view.


**Yeah so… I guess I lied. I said that my account was going to solely be for Rikku/Gippal, but I'm starting to lack in inspiration since I haven't read any of their fics in awhile and haven't playing the game in awhile. And I've always wanted to write from "A Great and Terrible Beauty" Oh yeah and guess what? I'm going to remember something!**

**DISCLAIMER! (yay Ginny, we're so proud of you!): I don't own any of this. Nada. Though I wish I owned Kartik, since where I come from, (spoiler-ish) there are no killer trees! Thank you, and enjoy. :)**

It was so cold tonight compared to the nights we've had recently. I stared at the leaves as they crunched under my feet. My cricket bat was a weight on my shoulder.

I had much to think about lately. First was Ithal. The fool, how could he ever care for such a beastly girl as Miss Worthington? I try not to think harshly of the English girls who are my neighbors, because it's how they are raised, to live in prejudice of us who are not part of their so sheltered society. But she _pretended_ to care for him. It is even worse to claim you deny everything you were taught as a child and then when it is finally tested, you decide to go back on your word. Deny the poor fool everything he'd ever wanted from you. Ithal won't ever look at those English the same way again. It won't make any difference to him. They all will be traitorous ninnies to him.

This brings me to my other thing to think about. I exhale sharply with the frustration that comes directly afterward. A certain Miss Gemma Doyle. Only the heavens know how much I wish I could just knock her over the head with my cricket bat sometimes. But then I remember that I can't even crack open a walnut with it. Let alone her skull. She may be very important to the Rakshana, but she's as the sea to me. I could _greatly_ do without her, and a few headaches she's caused me. She's refused to do everything and anything I tell her to from the moment I met her. I wonder what makes her wish to be so disagreeable. She simply has to do things her way, and more often than not it is probably the wrong way. If only she would _listen_ to me, she wouldn't be struggling with these irritating visions. I hardly even know what they are about. I only know that the Rakshana don't like them, so I don't like them. And in turn, I don't like Miss Doyle. I lazily swat at the leaves overhead. Droplets fall from the leaves onto my head, and I shake them off so that my thin clothes don't get wet for the rest of the night. I still feel ridiculous in these clothes. I'd prefer a turban, but in England, you _must_ wear uncomfortable clothes that won't keep you warm no matter how many layers you choose to wear in winter, and in the summer, you _cannot_ choose how many layers you want to wear. Rules are rules. Even for Gypsies. I sigh and watch my breath come out in a puff.

I find myself wondering of what Miss Doyle is doing at the moment. No doubt thinking of every way possible to annoy me or the people around her. Or poetry, or French, or some other silly thing that boarding school girls must learn at Spence. I wonder how the Gypsies can stand living in the Spence woods when all day they can hear the tittering and propriety of the school next to them. It completely baffles me.

I hear a large group up ahead. I look up from my trance and see some of the Gypsies in a circle around something. I feel my curiosity grabbed. For some reason or another, things are very boring in the Gypsy camp. I find myself longing for times when something exciting happens.

"What's going on?" I ask, pushing my way through the group to see what was in the center of it. I almost stopped cold. Curiosity kills the cat.

There, in the center of the circle, are Ithal, Miss Worthington, Miss Bradshaw, and none other than Miss Doyle herself. I feel my eyes go wide with some kind of horror. I never thought she'd be daring enough as to come to the camp herself. Was she mad? The Gypsies almost never want to see a single person outside of their camp. It was hazardous for me to even convince them to allow me to stay. But for three English schoolgirls, one of which had humiliated Ithal in front of over a dozen people, to come to the camp was almost the worst thing they could do.

I count again. Yes, three. I feel a bit of my interest for this situation drop away as I realize Miss Cross is not with them. But I don't dwell on the fact long. Miss Doyle has locked eyes with me. I wished I hadn't looked at her. I wish I hadn't come at all. If only they could have just sent her away.

"Please, we need to see Mother Elena," she says to me in her proper British accent. Something about the way she talks was always somehow hypnotic to me. It somehow made me feel tired. But I stayed alert to what she was saying, and narrowed my eyes slightly at her. What in the world does she want with Mother Elena? Ithal raises his arms in the air as if in surrender.

"Ah. This gadje is yours. I apologize, friend," he says to me. I could almost laugh. But, I try to keep some composure of the situation. Gadje itself hardly means anything, only that she's not Romanian. It was him suggesting that she was… I scoff at the very idea of her belonging to me. As if I could control her, even if she did.

"She's not…" I cut myself off suddenly. Curiosity overcomes me again. I almost _need_ to know why they are here. And also, if I don't do something, then I dread to know what they will do to them. Particularly Miss Doyle. I care not for the other two, but we need Miss Doyle for the Rakshana. Ithal could make Miss Worthington his slave for all I care. I finally make amends with myself lightening fast. "Yes, she is mine," I state loudly, grabbing Miss Doyle by the wrist from my spot at the rim of the circle and pulling her towards me. I can feel her gasp and resist me, but I knew she would stop once she realized that it was the only way. Besides, as if I'd _want_ her at all. She thinks very highly of herself. The circle shifts and makes it around the two of us, making me feel a little more uncomfortable. The men around us cheered as I tugged Miss Doyle closer to me. But then, I felt a halt. I look and see the young boy of the camp gripping to Miss Doyle's wrist. I'm actually worried now. How convincingly can I act about Miss Doyle belonging to me?

"How do we know she's yours?" he says with a sneer and shifts his eyes eagerly to Miss Doyle. "She does not seem so willing. Perhaps she will come with me instead." I'm not sure _what_ to do. My thoughts have gone blank as I stare at him with a glower. Suddenly, I feel a shift in my hand, and as I slightly turn my head, Miss Doyle's bright green eyes are all I can see.

I've not kissed anybody really. Maybe only once in India. But this is something strange. It's very awkward to just sit there, our lips unresponsive to each others and staring with bewildered faces into each others eyes. Finally, I decide that nothing is going to easily get by these Gypsies without a bit of enthusiasm. I slip my cricket bat from my hand and take her limp hand that the boy had released in my own. She doesn't even seem to notice. I press my lips only a little more firmly to hers and shut my eyes. But her eyes are still imprinted in my mind. There was something strange about this kiss. Most likely because only minutes ago I was reminding myself of how much I loathed Miss Gemma Doyle. But now, I actually feel like this is not the worst thing I could be doing at the moment. I press my lips still more firmly to her own, -this time almost unintentionally- and I feel her lips open only the slightest. Obviously whatever she was thinking of was taking over her thoughts as well. I felt I had to do something to end this, before we both got carried away in it. I couldn't push her away, that would only raise suspicion. So, I used the small opening in her mouth to my advantage. I shove my tongue into her mouth, knowing it will shock her back into her senses and cause her to pull away. Which is exactly as she did, wrenching her hand away from mine and pressing it to her chest. I could see her face going red, and I hoped mine did not look the same as hers. A voice called out from the group of people around us,

"I see she is yours after all!" I could almost grab my cricket bat again and go beat him with it. No matter the fact that it couldn't harm even a plant. I pick it up calmly instead.

"Yes," I say in a ragged voice. I clear my throat as silently as I can. "I will take them to Mother Elena to have their fortunes told. Get back to drinking. It's their money we need, not their trouble," I announce, ushering the three to Mother Elena's tent. I walk beside Miss Doyle, just to keep the camp thinking she belonged to me, as they went towards the tent I pointed out to them. I feel Miss Worthington's icy eyes on the two of us. I avoid her glare. I know Miss Doyle will hardly be able to avoid questions from her later on. Just as I won't either. I take myself out of this sentimental mood I'm in. I must not be soft towards Miss Doyle. She mustn't have another reason to think she can be dominant over me.

I pull open the tent flap for them. Miss Worthington and Miss Bradshaw walk in without so much as a glance in my direction, and as Miss Doyle is going by, I grab her arm and roughly pull her away from the tents opening and let it fall closed. She seems afraid of what I might do to her, and I feel almost triumphant that she finally fears me. But I wish she was afraid of me for a reason other than that she is afraid I will make her kiss me again.

"Just what do you think you're doing here?" I ask her sharply.

"Having my fortune told," she tells me simply. If only she knew how much she drives me mad. That answer was the only thing in the world she could have said to irritate me. And she seemed to not even know it. She continues talking. "I apologize for my conduct. It was necessary under the circumstances. I hope you won't think me too forward," she finished, and seems to take in a deep breath of air. I picked up the closest thing I saw from the ground and tossed it in the air, hitting it with my cricket bat with enough force to drive out all the frustration I had at the moment. Even though I hit it hard, it hardly went anywhere.

"I'll never hear the end of it from them later," I mumble. It's the only thing I can think to say to her. What was I supposed to say? 'No, of course you weren't too forward, in fact, I wish you had been a little more forward!' It would have been terrible if some demon had possessed me to say that… still, her face seemed to crumble a bit after that sentence. It was a spectacle to me. Why would she even bother with what I think of her if she hates me as much as I her?

"Sorry to have put you out on my behalf," she said in a tight voice. There is something I can't even find the words to respond to. I didn't mean it to be entirely insulting, anyway. I think of the first thing that comes to my mind.

"Where's the other one of your little foursome? Hiding in the woods?" I ask, looking around for the dark haired girl that trails after Miss Worthington. Miss Cross. I don't really feel my heart in the inquiry of her, but I ask anyway.

"She's ill," Miss Doyle says in a highly irritated tone. Honestly, I only wish I could know what is going through her mind so I could know exactly why I was saying the exact wrong things. Women can't just say how they feel. They're too sly for that.

"Nothing serious, I hope," I said in response. I can almost hear how stupid I must sound to her. I'm sure I'll never get her to listen to me now.

"Nothing serious," she assures me in a cold tone. "May I go in now?" she asked, reaching out to pull open the tent flap. I stop her by latching onto her wrist once again and bring myself closer to her ear.

"Do not do this again," I advise her in a quiet voice. I pull the tent flap open for her and almost shove her inside, spinning around and walking away before the tent flap has even closed again.

As soon as I get back to the woods, I lean my back against the trunk of a tree and close my eyes, letting out a deep sigh. I open my eyes in time to see a cloud appear over my head, and disappear as quickly. I can only imagine what is going on in that tent. I find my thoughts trying to wander back to that kiss, but I won't allow them to. It meant nothing, and the only reason I felt any emotion for it is because my eyes were closed and I was thinking of… of something else. But I had a feeling that I and Miss Doyle's relationship will just have one more secret weight added to it as I sling my cricket bat over my shoulder and walk off into the crisp night.


End file.
